


Fainting Spells

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:03:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I call this the "Rude-voyeur-fapping-fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fainting Spells

**Author's Note:**

> I like to call this the Rude-voyeur-fapping-fic. Voyeurism crops up in a lot of my fics regardless of fandom. I get a kick out of it, but this is the first fic I've written where it is purely voyeurism. I'll probably build further on this concept; I've always wanted to write a PRONZ command/answer/voyeur fic, and this is sort of the first draft if you will.
> 
> I also wrote this listening to the Crystal Castles song "Fainting Spells" on repeat for a couple days (hence the title), and in my mind (although it may not read this way to anyone else), the mood of this fic closely follows the arc of the song and the stages of emotional oeuvre that gradually emerge.
> 
> Timeline is rough--this was before I had really familiarized myself with new canon, but is intended to take place some time after Midgar's destruction/pre-Advent Children.
> 
>  ** _Very_ late edit: I totally have to give credit for the "patch of burn" metaphor in this fic to deadcellredux. Without realizing, I totally stole this line FROM A POEM she wrote like, five years ago. Wow. THANKS A LOT MIND, FOR YOUR PLAGIARIZING WAYS.**

When he first heard the familiar footsteps, he didn't stop what he was doing. These were long days and he wasn't one to quibble over what gave pleasure, nor did he like being interrupted. He was on an intense date with his hand, and his hand was _definitely_ putting out tonight.

The footsteps were closer and then the door opened, and he resented having to share space with another human being as he felt Rude's gaze fall upon him and then register what uncouth actions were taking place in one of the few in-tact rooms.

Reno let out a sigh of exasperation. "Can't a guy jerk off around here in peace?" he asked in mock annoyance, his hand straying away from his cock and resting on the thin quilt next to him.

Rude was wearing his sunglasses and he didn't reply. He just shook his head and turned the other way, and Reno could practically hear the rolling of eyes. He figured the other man would just leave, allow him to finish business and be done with it.

But instead, Rude turned back to him with an intrigued expression on his face. Reno's gaze was simultaneously questioning and amused; the showdown lasted for almost a full minute before Rude simply sat down, not able to resist the challenge, and crossed his arms.

"Sure," he replied, taking off his sunglasses and meeting Reno's eyes. "Go ahead."

 _Fucker_ , Reno thought, and a series of feelings, quick as a heartbeat, rushed through him--bemusement, nerves, heat--and then a _game-set-go_ grin spread over his face. He couldn't begrudge Rude his little pantomime; there were always new ways to pass the in-between times, spans of empty weeks that didn't involve sleeping, searching or drinking.

Rude could see the amused expression shift to predatory as Reno's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. The rest of his body relaxed, as if languidly falling into an amorphous cloud where he floated, a calculated gesture. Contradictory to his nature, his touch appeared almost delicate as he lifted his hand back off of the bed where it had dropped during Rude's initial entry; now he slowly reached down and took his cock back in a confident grip. It was no longer hard, and the build-up was about to start all over again.

Rude knew he was getting a show. Reno jerking off was nothing to get excited about; it was inevitable that they'd accidentally walk in on one another doing just that at some point, given the amount of times they'd had to share lodgings. And he knew that it wasn't a big deal because he'd seen it. It was a practical, tension-relieving activity; what was happening before him right then was something very different, a series of slow movements, a hard concentrated touch, and closed eyes all designed to be provocative and see who would crack first.

Reno was bored with the downtime, and he had accepted Rude's offer of a distraction. It was a strange one, and even he had to admit, it teetered on a razor-edged brink between amusing antics and bad idea. _But why not?_

When Rude had first walked in, Reno had been on lying his side, stroking himself in a distracted manner, a fragment of pleasure lurking somewhere in the back of his eyes. Now he turned onto his back, his hand in his pants that he hadn't even bothered to take off before, unzipped, motions only visible through cloth. He met Rude's eyes and didn't break the gaze.

Rude raised an eyebrow and sat still, watching. His expression betrayed none of his thoughts, but Reno knew that he had his partner's undivided attention. He arched his back into the mattress and began to stroke in earnest, slowly at first, and then steadily, until the springs were creaking with great offense.

He never broke eye contact with Rude, head to the side, even when his eyelashes fluttered and his hips followed his hand. He was startled and almost stopped right in the middle of it when he heard Rude's voice, even and controlled, but commanding.

"Take off your pants," he said, "and spread your legs." Countermove.

Reno hesitated, stopped his actions for a few moments, and then complied. It wasn't so much the voyeur fetish that Rude seemed to have that excited him; it was the fact that Rude might _have_ a fetish at all. _Something new..._ His pulse quickened.

He shimmied out of his pants and dropped them onto the floor where they crumpled into a pile of already-wrinkled fabric (most of his clothes usually lived there anyway), until he was down only to his white button-up shirt.

Rude's gaze fell on the other man's cock as he started to stroke himself again; Reno could feel the weight of the look. It was leadened with a centered, intense concentration that hadn't been there before. As commanded, he splayed his legs open and felt something hot surge through him. He could suddenly see in his mind's eye what they looked like, Rude sitting there calmly while Reno worked at it like a pro. He held fast to the thought, the heat, and it glowed in his chest like hot coals.

He couldn't resist the urge to shift the balance of control again, as was to be expected, but another part of him desired that look with an intensity that he hadn't felt in a long time. It sprang forth unexpectedly, an emotion connected with Rude that startled and confounded him. He _wanted_ this. He scrambled backward toward toward the safety of firm ground, away from the precipice at which he knew he was standing.

 _"Ah_... Rude," he said and arched his back for extra theatrical effect as he pulled roughly at his cock. He said it huskily for effect, for laughs, for an exorcism of the directionless boredom and the past that haunted them daily.

But there was something heavy in Reno's voice right then as he said Rude's name, even as it arrived as the joke it was intended to be. Something unsettling. It bit into Rude sharply.

The absurdity of Reno jerking off at that moment, playing the role of a panting romance novel heroine as he sighed and huffed and arched, was what kept them sane. Stupid actions that sometimes got them into trouble, though never with each other. But it changed when Reno looked at Rude suddenly.

It was Rude's expression that sobered him--serious, expectant, not even a trace of a self-satisfied smirk. Even as he had thrown out ridiculous commands at Reno, toyed with this interlude of madness the same way that one might absentmindedly run a tongue over a patch of burn in their mouth, he had been self-possessed until that moment. Now Rude's hands had closed into tight fists, and Reno could clearly see the bulge in the other man's pants, could practically feel the energy humming through him now: _alive, new_. Words that hadn't made sense for a long time.

Something tipped over the brink and Reno shuddered, comical expression dying, his hand tight, body tense, legs spread apart, his cock wet and hard, and he looked lost on the thin mattress that didn't quite fit his lanky body. His breath came in short, harsh bursts; the sounds scraped at Rude's ears like a scuttling, frantic insect caught underneath of a glass.

Rude's hand went to his own cock, into his pants, and flesh met flesh. The sound of a zipper made Reno look over, and then Rude was stroking himself in tandem, and they were looking at each other again, unable to stop, and he was drowning.

It sounded like the mattress was shrieking as Reno pulled his legs up and bent his knees. He sucked on a finger and his voice was carried on a sharp breath as he pushed it inside himself, then out, until he was fucking himself. Rude finally made a sound, animal-like.

"Fuck... _Rude_..." Reno's voice, raw and ragged, shot the words through the air like a ricocheting bullet. His body quaked and his spine arched involuntarily, shoulders pressed hard into the cacophony of screaming springs.

Then Rude was coming too, all over his hand, all over the fabric of his pants. This was a huge mess: the viscous splatters, the sighs. _A big fucking mess_...Reno thought.

As he caught his breath and looked at Rude, he saw that his partner had closed his eyes, head angled downward, fighting to breathe. So Reno just laid there, motionless, hand still on his cock, the other thrown limply to the side where it had first landed when Rude had walked into the room. Everything was damp, and seemed heavy, and suffocating.

Outside it was nighttime in the woods, and there were the distant sounds of nightbirds chirping, sounds that Midgar never had. Reno hated the new sounds: the crickets, the birds, the strange rustling of wild animals, and possibly most of all, Rude's wordless voice. It brought fear; it was not supposed to be this way.

He felt a sudden touch, Rude's arm hovering in the air attached to the hand that alit on his shoulder, like tracing an unsure path on a map down roads that only existed in theory.

There was really nothing to say. The hand closed around his shoulder, a tongue along his collarbone, electric wet aftershock, first and only contact, and then Rude's body sank heavily down next to his.

They laid there together, not touching after the first bone-tasting, and listened to the crickets chirp.


End file.
